Venez manger! (Part One)

So folks, as the weeks wind down, I've just realized that you are probably what I've been eating these last four months.  Though I mention it occasionally in passing posts, I would like to dedicate my two-weeks-to-go post to, yes, FOOD.  (Due to the lack of photogenicness of Senegalese cuisine as well as camera availability during meals, I take credit for most but not all the photos.)

I. Main Dishes

The traditional dishes in Senegal are based around the following staple ingredients: fish, chicken, sheep, rice, Moroccan couscous, and ground millet.  Sauces are frequently oil, tomato, and onion-based, spiced with garlic, paprika, mustard, and the famous orange "pimon" (pepper).  A few vegetables such as carrots, manioc, and potato are added to dishes but are considered more of garnishes than key ingredients.  If eating communal, the rice or couscous is first spread over the platter then the sauce and meat is poured atop.  You may eat either with the left hand or a large spoon.  If served as an individual dish, usually the starch will be served on a plate and the sauce in a separate bowl.  You would then spoon the sauce over-top the rice as needed.

The National Dish: Ceebujen

This big guy is the national dish of Senegal.  Whole fish is boiled in tomato sauce and served atop seasoned rice.  The rice is actually cooked in the tomato-fish broth rather than steamed traditionally, hence why it has a reddish color.  And this dish has veggies!  Usually, one of each vegetable is prepared per batch: carrot, potato, sour eggplant, manioc, and sweet potato.  The juice of the Senegalese pimon can be squeezed over-top the rice, or a pimon relish is served on the side.  I did not really like ceebujen when I first came to Senegal, but times have changed!  My family now saves a small pot for my dinner on Fridays since I can't make it home for lunch.

The Personal Favorite: Mafé

Chunks of meat (beef or sheep) are slow-cooked in a thick, medium-spicy brown sauce.  Peanuts are roasted and ground into a heavy paste that serves as the base of the dish.  Oil, garlic, and a diced potato or two later, this stew-like sauce is poured over rice or occasionally Moroccan couscous.  Mafé is usually made every Wednesday in my house, and I can usually sneak some after school.

The Sweet and Salty: Yassa

There are two choices for Yassa- poisson (fish) or poulet (chicken [pictured above]).  The protein is grilled over a charcoal fire then simmered in the sweet and salty Yassa sauce.  Onions, onions, onions with a splash of oil, mustard, lemon juice, and spice make this dish one of Senegal's easiest and tastiest dishes to prepare.  No vegetables in this guy, unless you count the french fries that sometimes replace the rice as the starch.

The One to Eat Just to Say You Did: Soupou Kanja








Not the most popular dish among foreigners, this seafood and okra-based meal is (literally) hard to swallow.  Its thick slimy texture and strong flavor overpower the bits of shrimp, lobster, and snail that swim around the bowl.  Served over rice or steamed millet, it's the dish you should order once just so you can say you've tried it.  You never know, maybe stewed okra is just your thing after all.  (Think the picture looks appetizing? The restaurant where I took it does a nice job of disguising it.)

II. The Ivorian Way

So as you may know, I actually live with a family from the Côte D'Ivoire.  They have lived in Senegal for quite some time and have a Senegalese maid, so as a result, I get the best of both worlds when it comes to African cooking!  Many of the staples are the same between Senegal and Côte D'Ivoire, but there are a few things you just won't eat in the normal Wolof home.

The One That Grew on Me: Attiéké

Mashed and steamed manioc is the staple of the Ivorian diet.  This pale yellow starch resembles rice in size and stickiness but tastes nothing like it.  Attiéké is chewy, slightly bitter, and easier to eat with your hands than a utensil.  A whole grilled fish and a raw onion vinaigrette are served on the side.  It took about two months, but this dish became one of my favorites.  The only problem?  The war in Côte D'Ivoire has prevented my family from acquiring their usual supply, so we ate our last attiéké meal about three weeks ago.  And just when I started loving the sticky yellow stuff...

The Occasional Treat: Aloco

A yummy little bonus of living in my house, aloco (fried plantains) doesn't need too much explaining!  Because they are native to Côte D'Ivoire rather than Senegal, plantains are an occasional but tasty side dish at dinner.  They usually have a slight fish and potato taste since all three are cooked in the same oil during preparation, but I try not to complain about the little things.  However, they are usually a little mushier than I like after sitting in a bowl on the counter for 2 hours.  My aunt likes to make them in substantial light, and when the power goes out, it's a little harder to fry plantains properly at 9 pm by candlelight.

To be continued...

My internship

Students in my program have the opportunity to participate in "internships" throughout Dakar if they so wish.  Like any other internship, our school lets us pick a domain and then contacts an organization.  About 5 or 6 of us have these stages (as we would say in French), many of whom teach English at local primary schools.  I work at the National Confederation of Senegalese Workers (CNTS), located on the southeastern side of the city.  Here's the friendly doorway!

The problem with these stages is that it takes about 2 months to find them.  First, the school has to send a written letter rather than calling or sending an email.  Senegalese are just old-fashioned like that.  But as a result it takes a long, long time to hear a response.  Then, you have to make sure your schedule is even compatible with the work hours of your site.  I was told I may have trouble since I have class every morning but Friday.  People don't tend to work much past 1pm here, and Friday is mosque day.

About half of the student like their stages, and the other half don't.  Some students actually get to do things, others just sit around in an office and pretend to observe.  This can be quite frustrating.  I don't really mind my stage, but it's frustrating to walk an hour each way for the minimal work I do.  Unfortunately, there isn't a bus or car rapide that goes on a direct route to my destination.

The CNTS is located in the Bourse du Travail of Senegal, which houses all the little offices of the members unions.  The facilities are not very great considering this is a national organization.  The courtyard is filled with broken down buses, and we are constantly the victims of power cuts.  There's a small little restaurant in the corner (aka a picnic bench inside a hanging tarp).  The CNTS has it's own little building to the left, and the rest of the unions are in the central structure or across the pathway surrounding it.  Each union is marked with a hand-written posterboard.  I'm pretty sure some of the pro-union kids in ILR would go nuts if they saw the working conditions here.

I work in the upstairs of the CNTS complex.  It's a small, metal building with posters glued to the walls.  We have a "conference room" with plastic patio chairs, a "waiting room" with no chairs what-so-ever, and a few different offices scattered around.  I'm pretty sure there's no bathroom.

I work in the room right outside the Secretary General (aka president)'s office.  We have a fax machine, two phones, a computer, an ancient Canon photocopier that is always out-of-order, and too many stacks of paper and binders to do anything with.  There's also an office chair that's missing it's back, but it's usually occupied by the Saliou, the Assistant to the Secretary General.  That's ok, because I prefer the plastic patio ones anyway.

So what do I do at my stage?  Not much.  People are always coming and going from the office, and Saliou is all over the place.  In reality, there's not much I can do since my Wolof sucks.  Sometimes, they leave me alone, and I have to answer the phone.  This is really no phone, but not only can I not understand the people's French who call in, I certainly can't reply when they speak Wolof to me.  Usually, they just hang-up.  And then call back because they think they mis-dialed the first time.  Nope, just the American intern here.

So though I often dread the walk (and walk home) on hot afternoons, my stage gives me something to do two days a week.  I also get to practice my Wolof, since that's the choice language of most blue-collar, Senegalese workers.  Every now and then, I met someone cool with whom I can have a great conversation in French.  And if I'm really lucky, I get to make photocopies!

Spring break!

So I will first apologize for only posting once so far this month and making it the longest post ever.

Anyways... I had an amazing spring break!  Sure it wasn't super "fun," nor did I have electricity for 5 days, but it was a great experience.  I loved the Gambia and came back home with a renewed energy for my remaining two months here.

Transportation around Western Africa is horrendous.  We woke up at 6:15 to get the "car station" to take a shared vehicle down to the border.  It's called a "sept-place," meaning 7-seats in French.  It should be called a 4-seats, because that's how many it should legally and practically fit.  It was so hot and uncomfortable.  But hey, it was better than taking the communal bus.

We paid $40 for a Gambian visa, since they like to get as much money out of Americans as possible. Then a taxi and a ferry ride later, we got to Banjul.  For a capital city, it was not very happening.  But we had a nice lunch/dinner at Ali Baba's, then took a taxi to Serekunda (the unofficial capital), then one to Tanji, a little fishing village on the Atlantic coast.

The ferry at dock in Banjul

The taxi driver couldn't find our hotel at first.  I didn't blame him, considering it was a 15 minute drive off the main road into the wilderness Tanji.  They were very welcoming at the hotel, but the next morning, we decided to switch to the hotel we originally wanted to stay at.  It was called Nyanya's Beach Lodge, and not only could we stay in cute little beach-front huts, it was cheaper.  The only downside was that Nyanya's didn't have power, unlike the first hotel, which had power for 3 hours a day.  It wasn't bad at all though, given I live half the time without power in Dakar.

Our little home for 4 days

The four days we spent in the Gambia were totally worth the long travel time and crazy visa cost.  In my opinion, the people are more genuine than those in Dakar, even though speaking French to a Dakarois is often easier than speaking English to a Gambian.  We did a lot of naturey things too, which was such a great break from the noise and clutter of Dakar.  This included the Abuko Nature Reserve and the Tanji Bird Reserve, the latter being only a short walk from our hotel.  We didn't see too many birds, but we did see monkeys!

Meals were much more limited in our secluded fishing village.  Though our hotel offered pricey meals, we were much more content with Mrs. Aye's, a little shack that served a daily traditional meal for 25D ($1 USD).  I like the Gambian version of ceebujen, but the mafé was a little too thick and heavy for my liking.  But you get what you get for a meal served on a picnic bench in a cement and wood shack.  We often found more options in Serekunda, from Toubab-fast food to home-grown fruit stands.  Mangoes were in-season AND cheap in the Gambia.  They made great afternoon snacks on the beach.

Our last day in Tanji, we headed out for a camel safari.  It sounds a lot more exciting than it was, though I have no regrets!  Rather than steering your own camel down the sand dunes on bare-back like I had imagined, each camel is equipped with two, chair-like seats atop its back.  And of course there was a young man to guide them down the beach.  It was quite exciting though.  Camel are very cool animals when they are hissing at each other!

Camel-back, riding along the beach

It turned out our camel master was a Casamence refugee, so he was more than delighted to find out we were living in Senegal.  He said we were the only white French-speakers he had met during his entire time in the Gambia and seemed so content to practice his "native language" (something he apparently hadn't done in a few years.)  He told me that had we not been leaving so early the next morning for Banjul, he would have given us another, complementary, camel ride the next day.

The next morning, we headed out of our little fishing town at 6:30 am.  The day was chock-full of complicated and frustrating travel back to Senegal, but we made it.  Surprisingly, a week away from French didn't stop me from going off on our taxi driver when he tried to rip us off!  We met up in Saly at a little Swiss auberge where Jess, Jenn, and Aimee were staying.  Saly is a touristy coastal town about an hour and a half south of Dakar.  We didn't leave the tranquility of the pool and huts except for dinner.  The next day, we headed back to Dakar (and yes, still more frustrating travel and yelling at taxi drivers— in French and Wolof this time­­— though the trip only lasted about 3 hours).

Overall, I had a nice trip.  I am so glad I got to see another country that is surprisingly so different from Senegal.  Though everyone here says they are basically the same (minus the French-English), two months in Dakar lets you notice the little things.  For example, the Gambian taxi drivers ask you to put on your seatbelts.  And there are traffic lights.  And people obey them.  There also seems to be a greater since of "teranga," the warm hospitality of which Africans often brag.  Perhaps I would find the same thing in other parts of Senegal, like Toubacouta or Keur Moussa for example.  But in the Gambia, I feel like I didn't have to look far from my beach-side hut.

Out in the wilderness

So this entry may be a little long, so bare with me a little.  It's been a while since I've posted, so I guess that will make up for it.  As always, I will be sure to include lots of picture for a more visual experience.  So last Thursday, we left for our rural adventure to Toubacouta, a midly-touristy village in southern Senegal as well as Keur Moussa, the rural village where we had our two-day homestay.  When we first got to Toubacouta, we got to stay in a little "club de vacances," which is the closest thing you'll find to a resort in rural Senegal.

So the ride from Dakar was over 6 hours.  We left early in the morning, and for lunch, stopped at Professor Sene's village for lunch.  (He is the director of WARC.)  Of course, his family's house stuck out like a castle among the wooden and thatched compounds.  Before the ceebujen lunch was served, I ate an entire bowl of cashews that was served as an appetizer on the mat.  Delicious at the time, but I was very full for the rest of the day.

After lunch, they made us dance with the locals.  And per Senegal-dancing tradition, they make you dance in the center of the circle alone or with an older woman and make a fool of yourself.  That's they way they "welcome" you.  Seems more like entertainment for them, in my opinion.

Huts at the "resort"

So another hour on the bus, but by now, the road has gotten very, very sloppy.  Then we got to our club de vacances.  We were welcomed with bisap and baobab juice, but I was too full to drink any.  We were assigned little huts, and I shared with Zoey.

Then we did a little tour of Toubacouta.  We got a tour of the school, and it was pretty sad.  The facilities were just horrific, and some boys had to live across the street in another building since the school was too far from their homes.  We also walked down to a lake, which if I remember correctly, supports the oyster industry in the village.

Touring Toubacouta

For a suprise, we got to ride a motocycle with random Senegalese men back to the resort.  Hesitant as we were at first, it was a blast!  Imani and I asked our driver to go faster, and he was happy to oblige.  I totally want a motorcycle back in the States now, by the way.  (Or a least for my future Senegalese boyfriend to have one.)  We hung-out at the resort for a bit around their bug-infested pool.  Jess got stung by one of the pool bees, but otherwise, it was the first sense of peace and quiet I've felt in a long time.

We ate dinner of chicken and onion sauce (aka 50% of my diet here) then headed to a traditional wrestling match in a nearby village.  The villagers were the happiest, nicest people I've met in my life, regrdless of the communication barrier.  We were there for about two hours and to this day, have no idea what was going on the whole time.  I took some videos on ym camera which will hopefully explain it better than I ever can.  However, Blogspot isn't letting me load them, so you will have to wait until I get back to the US to see them.  Maybe they'll be up on Facebook.  At one point, I had to pee so badly I had to ask for a bathroom.  Waly laughed and said there's actually no bath "room."  He was right.  The director took me to a little dirt mound with a cloth strung between two sticks.  There was a hole.  Little did I know, this would look like a luxury given what I dealt with in the homestay village.

Traditional Senegalese wrestling

Anyways, it was freezing cold, but I made some friends with the local kids who were cold too.  They gave me some odd nut (later realized it was a cashew) which I have yet to eat or open.  Some lady also gave me a mint candy, which I gave to a boy.  It was tiny, but in traditional Senegal spirit, he bit it in half and gave some to his brother.  A lot of weird dancing and customs took place in the ring, but I was too exhausted and cold to really appreciate or understand it after a point.  In case you're wondering why it's so cold, news flash!, it gets very, very cold during the dry season at night, especially in the rural areas.  The days are in the nineties, but the nights are in the upper forties sometimes (or so it feels).

Jess and I in the mangroves

The next day, we walked around the fishing area of the village on the bay.  All these kids came up and held our hands.  We also saw a lot, lot, lot of fish, in every shape, form, and cooking technique.  Next, we got into those traditional boats (except we used a motor rather than paddles) for a two-hour tour of the mangroves.  Yes, two hours on a wooden bench.  The mangroves started to look the same after about thirty minutes, but my butt kept hurting the whole time.  But honestly, I did have a nice time.

We sat around for 3 hours after that waiting for lunch, which ended up being yassa poulet (yep, chicken and onion sauce again!).  I ate an apple for dessert.  I love apples.  More hanging around, then we had a traditional dance and music class with the locals.  We played the drums and learned a very simple dance.

Toubacouta performers

This was preparation for what we did next.  It was a half-performance, half-circle-dance party.  Honestly, all of Toubacouta had come out to see us.  There was one giant spot-light like there had been at the wrestling match.  The music started and about five older women came out dressed as men.  They danced some, then of course, came out one-at-a-time to make us dance too.  But it honestly wasn't too bad.  Once you accept the fact that you're making a fool of yourself, it can be fun.  Then the younger dancers came out (about my age or a few years older), who are part of the village dance troup.  They were absolutely incredible.  There was also a fire-eater, a guy who stuck metal rods up his nose, and a guy on stilts who looked like someone from the KKK.  The little kids were terrified of him and went running.  It was hilarious.  They made us dance again, but wow, I have to admit it was once of the most exciting times I have had in Senegal.

The village women welcome us with music

The next morning we left very early to start our homestays.  After getting on the bus, we drove for about 15 minutes until we got a somewhat busier village.  We each bought 5 loaves of bread as welcome gifts to our families.  Fifteen more minutes on a very windy, non-bus-friendly road and we pulled up to our village, Keur Moussa.  Tere was a small circle of plastic chairs and a giant group of women and children ready to welcome us.  They sung, made music on a metal bowl and an empty gasoline can, and made us dance.  Then after some words from Waly (he grew up in this village), the head woman, and the chief/imam, they called out our names and our family pairs.  The mother would come out from the crowd and dance in the middle of the circle with her student.  I'm glad the embarrassment of circle dancing had worn off.  This is how traditional West Africans believe you greet and "get to know" a new person. I suppose maybe this is more useful than verbal introductions given the intense language barrier.  Seriously, I knew nothing in Wolof and didn't study like I should've.

My host mother, Amiso, who looked only a few years older than me, walked my to the compound of huts.  I met some people, watched them catch, bleed, de-feather, and butcher a chicken (yes, those photos are on Facebook) that had once been a pet in the compound.  For the next few hours,k time passed very slowly and awkwardly.  I couldn't communicate with these people and had nothing to do to occupy myself.  When I brought out my camera, that seemed to connect us a little.  There was also a 15-year-old girl who arrived a little later who spoke some French.  Since was one of the few children in the village who went to school and had to walk two villages over each day to get there.  By the way, the girls walk and cook topless here, and publicly breastfeed.  Also awkward.

Courtyard of my compound. I slept in the hut on the left.

I ate lunch on a hut floor with the other women.  Since my real host family in Dakar doesn't allow me to eat African-style, I got rice everywhere and had oil dripping down my arm due to lack of practice.  For the next few hours I did more awkward hanging out under the mango tree.  Time passed by so slowly.  It was such a relief when another woman brought over Zoe, a girl form the MSU program.  It was amazing to have someone to talk to.

I also had to use the bathroom.  Since they didn't understand me in Wolof, I told the girl in French, and she pointed to a straw-fenced area behind a hut.  I just didn't get it.  There was a pile of fist-sized rocks.  But no hole.  Seriously, this led me to asking every other study abroader about that later, but I just didn't get it.  The rocks did nothing, and if anything, were counterproductive.  But apparently, Megan told me her family didn't even have a designated spot.  They just had her find an empty spot in the courtyard and go.  And I thought my first few days in Dakar were awkward.  I was seriously homesick for my real host family.

After a few hours, my host sister brought me to another compound where about 10 women and 5 or 6 other WARC kids were rolling beignets.  The women made me do a quick "Youssa,
Youssa" (dance, of course) upon entering in front of everyone, but it was totally worth it to see some fellow Toubabs.  But after some time, we had to go back home.

I then learned to carry water form the well.  You first have to hoist a beaten, plastic bucket up from the 100 ft pit.  After 4 times, I had a bleeding blister on my hand form the rope.  Then, they wrapped a scarf on my head and placed a small bucket on my head.  After two runs, my neck was aching.  And my mini-bucket was about a quarter the size of the others.  Amiso didn't even were the scarf for padding.  These women seriously amaze me.  I also had to duck under the front tree, where I spilled all my water, and the kids laughed.  More long, awkward hours, then I pulled out my packet and tried to practice some Wolof phrases.  I asked them when the rainy season was.  Then I said I like to eat with my hand, not a spoon.  Amiso couldn't understand me, but the other girl did.  I think they thought I wanted to eat with my hand at that moment, because I was brought a bowl of the rice and chicken we ate for lunch.  I was hungry, so I suppose that was convenient.

Then I took a shower.  They gave me a bucket of freshly-drawn well water and sent me back to the rock pile.  The problem was, I couldn't stand and dump the water on me like I would at home because the straw "fence" barely came to my neck.  I should also mention that you could see completely through it.  I would've been exposed to the village road.  I also had nowhere to put my clothes and ended up hanging them on a stick supporting the straw wall.  That was pretty risky, looking back, since I possibly could've knocked down the whole thing.  I took my spongebob towel, kneeled down in the dirt, and somehow managed to rinse my skin, flick water in my hair to look like I'd cleaned it, and get my clothes back on.  It's possible I was dirtier after the shower.

My backyard, dusk

I then walked behind the huts out into the savanna to snap some photos.  I also found a real toilet- real toilet meaning a hole in the ground with another make-shift straw fence covering three sides.  This must have been for more "serious" business.

When it was dark, I was brought back into Amiso's hut and given my dinner.  I kid you not, it was a bowl of hot (in spice and temperature) oil with chicken slivers.  I found a few onion pieces too.  Basically, I picked out the meat from the oil and tried to squeeze it against the side of the pot so I wouldn't get a mouthful of oil.  My fingers were dripping and it was pretty ugly.  A nice glass of milk would've greatly accompanied this meal, and miraculously, I was brought a glass of milk.  But after a few sips and a glance at the cup, there was no way I was going to finish half of it.  It was luke-warm, unpasteurized milk with a slightly pale film on top.  When mommy realized I wasn't drinking, she found a make-shift lid and used the Wolof word for "rest-aside" until later.  Sure enough, it was given to me again the next morning.  I know for a fact they don't have a refrigerator.  After dinner, they brought me a mat so I could lay outside in the courtyard while they ate.  It looked like rice.  Though I'm sure it was probably a very special honor to be brought oil and milk, I totally would've traded that for rice or millet.  During dinner, we saw a scorpion and they all jumped up and someone smashed it.  I was sent inside the hut for "protection."

Around 9 pm, I told the French-speaker I had to go to my meeting.  She had to change into her fancy outfit, and she also told me I would move to the other hut to sleep.  She additionally just stripped down in front of everyone to change, as did her friend whose house we visited shortly after.  I love how they made such a big deal about conservative clothing when villagers don't seem to understand modesty, especially breast-feeding mothers.

By the time we picked up Zoe and Joana from their huts, we got to the chief's compound around 9:25.  The other Zoey was living in that one.  Lucky her.  We sat in a concrete living room that had trashy but "real" couches.  We got a piece of fruit and sat around in the candlelight, asking questions and listening to complaints.  I was so tired.  I was also homesick for my Dakar family.

Then we had to dance with the village women.  Again.  I was a little disappointed when I saw Amiso because I knew I was obligated to dance with her.  Well, circle dancing has finally lost it's awkwardness.  But I was so tired and so cold and so miserable.  I was thinking what I would do to be in my Dakar bed at that moment, sad as it was.

We wrapped up around midnight, and Amiso took me home.  I shared a hut with about 6 other people, and the mattress was made of straw.  It was the worst nights sleep I've had in my life.  The straw, the cold, the animal noises, the bugs crawling all over me.  I slept for no more than 30 or 40 minutes at a time.

The next morning I was given the same chicken and oil for breakfast, as well as the milk.  I just picked at it.  I'm also going to stop writing on this blog now because I've been here three hours writing this.  The rest of my morning carried on just as the previous day had.  If you want the details, as me in two months.  I also walked to the Gambia and back.  Without a passport.  Again, ask me in two months.